“Chi Riya is eating noodles in class again!”

The bell rang just as she shoved the noodle cup into her desk drawer. One of the top students pointed straight at her.

“Riya! Hurry up!”

She hesitated, her cheeks puffed out with the last bite. In her heart, she thought:

“I’m not bored. I just really miss the taste... Abby, you’re crazy! Just wait—you’ll see.”

Then, as if on cue—

“Teacher! Visal is cheating!”

Click! Someone printed out a photo instantly.

Bhikkhu Valak stormed toward the desk and pointed dramatically at the floor.

“VISAL! Show it!”

“Hahaha!”

“Stop laughing, you stupid girl!” someone shouted.

But I laughed louder. I’m not a fool—I just love this chaos. This is my life. Loud, wild, and completely unpredictable.

We sit at the same desk. We laugh. We cry. We draw in each other’s notebooks. Our doodles are cooler than the school staff’s designs.

“Don’t talk to me!” I yelled once when Riya scribbled over my vocabulary notes.

She peeked over. “What?! That’s your new word list, Riya? It’s trash!”

“You fathead! Don't ruin it!”

“Oops! Sorry! Oh no, the book’s glassy cover cracked!”

“Let me fix it!”

“Get lost! I want to cry!”

“Oh no! My book! Give it back, you idiot!”

The book was ruined. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or laugh it off.

That’s just how we are. We borrow each other’s pens, draw all over each other’s notes, and leave sarcastic messages hidden like treasure.

We don’t text—we leave handwritten notes that require actual effort to find. Hidden in pencil cases, taped under desks, folded into weird origami shapes. Our messages are top secret.

My eraser? Always gone.

My pens? They magically switch blue and red sides.

My backpack? Sometimes full of random junk—stones, bricks, you name it.

And then, after graduation, it all changed.

I used to be the “fat girl.” Everyone teased me. So I decided to lose weight. It was hard, but I was determined. From second year to fourth year, I changed everything.

People started noticing.

Guys started liking me.

But I didn’t like them back.

I got gifts—flowers, food, even 20 iPhones once. I said I didn’t want them. They still gave them. So I just smiled and accepted them.

But love? No thanks.

I had a plan: fall for someone ugly, pretend to love them, then dump them like trash.

Yes, I was heartless.

Until I met him.

He rode an old moped. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t famous. But something about him… it stirred something in me.

The twist?

He had broken up with me four years ago. And now… he didn’t even remember me.

But I remembered him.

I loved him.

And yet… my heart told me: Throw him away like the rest.

He secretly liked me. I could tell.

So I went to a fortune teller.

But the fortune said: “You’re not in love.”

Still, I couldn’t let go. I even asked my friend to pretend to be my boyfriend—to make him jealous. I borrowed my dad’s car just for show, since he didn’t have one either.

After all that, I felt victorious.

But the next day… I felt empty.

Quiet.

Lonely.

One year later…

I was job hunting. Out of nowhere, I got hired by a company. No interview. Just—"You're in."

Strange, right?

Then I walked into the office…

And there he was.

Smiling. Eyebrow raised.

No way.

He was the president of the company.

The guy with the moped.

The one I’d tried to throw away.

I stared at him, part shocked, part amused.

If I had known he was this powerful, I would’ve dumped him later!

He greeted me. “Hello.”

I smiled awkwardly. “Hi…”

And just like that… the story began again.